


one thousand five hundred sixty

by rowan_raven_rogue (shackalacklargebottom)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/F, F/M, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Injury, Jester has two hands, Multi, Other, Starvation, Trauma, Violence, Vomit, Whump, beau is the best best friend, beaujes if you squint, do you ever love a character so much you need to make them bleed, flagrantly ignoring canon, heinous fudging of d&d game mechanics, no time for romance there's evil afoot, or we could pretend they're 13th level, the author is not a sadist but understands how one might come to that conclusion, widojest if you squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shackalacklargebottom/pseuds/rowan_raven_rogue
Summary: The rest of the Nein carry on, splitting up to finish a mission in time. Jester and Beau make a discovery.***“You think it’d be in here?” she said.“Essek said one of their agents was intercepted while she was traveling,” Beau agreed, slowly. “He said it doesn’t look like anything special… maybe they didn’t realize what it was and just. Left it in here. Overlooked it.” She began to finger slowly and methodically through one shelf, opening pockets and haversacks. “It’s worth a shot, right? If it’s not here, we keep going.” Jester crossed the room and began her work the opposite way, in. They combed. Time continued to ooze.As she worked, Jester avoided speculation on what had happened to the people whose belongings she was searching through.





	1. twenty-one

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I'm missing some serious tags, please let me know if anything else should be tagged/warned. <3
> 
> rowan-raven-rogue.tumblr.com

“Shit!”

The back of Jester’s calf twinged as a heel made wet contact in the dark.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jester whispered. The rough-bandaged fingers draped over her shoulder dug into the soft joint, where it curved in the front.

“Something up there?”

“No, I - sorry. There’s nothing there,” said Jester, softly, and Beau relaxed her grip. The trickling and stink around them continued - Jester tried not to think about it.

As Beau silently slipped ahead of her in the slick tunnel and carried on, Jester pondered on the sensation of just waking up. The thirty or so seconds between floating to consciousness and actually breaching the surface - awake but not thinking quite yet - she clung every morning to those precious seconds before invariably the reminder crashed rudely forward -

This time it was Jester who collided with Beau. 

“Fucking-” Beau hissed. “Jes.” The look she directed backwards, Jester knew, wasn’t meant to bite - Beau was always as soft as she could manage, with Jester - but with her goggles on, in the dark, she was impossible to actually read. Beau jabbed one finger at the wall of the tunnel where she’d stopped, and motioned for quiet. Jester, too, peered - through the arched sewer grate. They’d nearly missed it, flush as a half-moon at the seam of the wall and floor of the chamber above.

“How do we get in?” Jester breathed. There was no misreading Beau now, a flashed grin in the dark, as she wiggled one of the bars experimentally. A quick tug had it crumbling backwards into the water at their feet. Jester smelled rust.

“ _ Magic _ assholes. They’re like ‘look at me, I can shoot fireworks out of my hands,’ like nobody’s ever just gonna use a little-” said Beau, working another loose bar, “-muscle.” This one wrenched out of the wall completely, and Beau handed it to Jester, who placed it gingerly aside. “Lucky for us though, I guess,” and a third bar bent askew. “Think you could get through that?” Beau whispered, and Jester nodded to the opening.

“Unlucky for me,” said Jester. “How does Essek  _ know _ we can’t cast spells in here?”

“I’d kind of prefer if we didn’t find that out the hard way,” Beau whispered, and clambered lithely through the hole. Jester followed.

A heavy smell like wet rotten wood met them. The sewer grate opened onto the middle of a long hallway, dimly lit by ensconced torches. Here and there, one had burned out, casting wide mouths of darkness onto the floor. The hall curved on before and behind them, and they paused.

“Where now?” Beau ventured. 

“Up?” said Jester. “I’m assuming they don’t keep all their like, cool magic stuff in the creepy sewer basement?”

Forward they went, following the hall and melting into patches of darkness where they could. Somewhere, a discordant clanging began, the chiming of a distant clock tower.

* * *

Time passed like molasses. On they had gone, eventually escaping the damp smell of rot and following fresh air to another floor. Twice, Beau had suddenly stiffened and thrown an arm into Jester’s chest, keeping her at bay around a curve in the wall, until a gold-robed guard had passed yards away.

They found themselves in a dim chamber, lined with shelves and chests, and left only a sliver of the heavy door open behind. Jester surveyed the storage ahead of them.

“You think it’d be in here?” she said. Robes, boots, and tunics gathered dust, wrinkling on the shelves where they’d been tossed, as well has leather satchels and belt-pouches, thin and emptied. Rusted knives, bits of parchment, and the odd copper or silver littered a table in the corner. A bow with a peeling string was propped in a corner next to its empty quiver. “Look, it’s all like, stuff they took from people they catch.”

“Essek said one of their agents was intercepted while she was traveling,” Beau agreed, slowly. “He said it doesn’t look like anything special… maybe they didn’t realize what it was and just. Left it in here. Overlooked it.” She began to finger slowly and methodically through one shelf, opening pockets and haversacks. “It’s worth a shot, right? If it’s not here, we keep going.” Jester crossed the room and began her work the opposite way, in. They combed. Time continued to ooze.

As she worked, Jester avoided speculation on what had happened to the people whose belongings she was searching through. Occasionally, she would pick up the fold of a dress or cloak that was stiffened rusty, reddish-brown. She swiped her fingers on her skirt and imagined wiping blood from them, dry though they were. Sandy boots - canvas traveling pack with lots of buckles - skirts, kind of expensive silk, actually, no pockets though - a long brown coat -

“ _ Oh. _ ”

“Oh!” Beau’s crow of triumph was swallowed. All the air had left Jester’s chest in one whisper. “Check it out!” and she could hear Beau coming, but  _ oh,  _ the coat was long and muddied and more patches than coat left, and Beau was shoving something small and shiny into the air near her right eye but the coat had fleece lining and far too many pockets and a long splash of blood along one ripped edge - 

“...has to be it,” Beau was saying tightly, and then she frowned. “Unless… it’s just a regular pocket watch. But how the fuck are we supposed to know?”

“ _ Beau, _ ” said Jester, barely, and turned with Caleb’s coat clutched to her.

Beau dropped the fist balled around a length of something silvery to her hip. As she traveled the brown, bloodied fabric with her eyes, the silence grew somehow quieter.

“Fuck,” Beau whispered, nearly a spit - her voice was damp with tears her eyes narrowed to hold back. “They - took him here?-”

“-Do you think he was still alive?” Jester hissed.

“I- how could he have been? Look at-” and Beau half-gestured to the coat, to the stain, with the silvery trinket in her hand.

“I  _ said  _ we should have gone after him.”

“Jester, how?” and Jester knew, she knew Beau wasn’t angry with her, but her voice was the quietest lion’s roar all the same.

“He wouldn’t have left any of us behind-”

“Yes, he would have,” said Beau, harsh. “Sure he would have. If it meant one of us dying, or all of us dying, he would have made the smart choice. To protect the rest of us.” Jester bit back a bitter taste and curled her fingers even tighter into the fabric.

“Come on,” said Beau, with forced gentleness. She opened her palm to a plain-looking watch face, the symbols of which Jester could not read. The silver to which the face was inset was tarnished and dented. Jester turned, allowing Beau to slip the timepiece into the pink haversack at her back, and then handed back Caleb’s coat. She felt Beau’s pause, and then in it went. Beneath it on the shelf was a pile of leather straps, which Jester unfolded into Caleb’s book holster, and beneath that lay two leather-bound books. One had a smallish bloody stain over the front. Both were handed back and stowed, along with the unremarkable amber pendant tucked into one of the front covers.

They were about to secrete back into the hall when the far-off chiming began again, the clock striking eleven. As if cued, a cluster of gold robes, trimmed white, marched firmly past. The group disappeared around the bend from where Beau and Jester had come, and “-no going back that way,” from Beau. They waited with barbed breath until the sound of footfalls had long faded, and then slipped out and headed the opposite way.

* * *

They traveled the curve, following cooler drafts and the faint wet smell until the hall became flagstone steps, sloping down in a wide, graceful spiral. As they descended, it grew darker, colder, more damp, until a familiar-looking landing leveled out at their feet. Here, where the torches hadn’t burned to embers, sporadic patches illuminated doors lining the hall. Some were simple, iron-barred, some were sturdier, solid wood.

“We gotta be getting close,” whispered Jester. “This whole thing looks like a big circle, probably.”

“Keep an eye out for the grate,” Beau whispered back, watching Jester eye the cell doors. “And don’t let anyone see you.” Jester slid Beau a puppy-eyed sidelong glance. Beau defended: “We’d never be able to get them all out without making some kind of noise, Jes. We can’t get caught trying to babysit. If we don’t make it back…” Jester was immediately back at their camp - watching Nott stare unblinking into the fire while Caduceus healed a deep slash across her arm, watching Fjord turn the blasting glove over and over in his hands - 

“Yeah. Okay,” agreed Jester, conceding. They moved.

Sticking to the shadows, Jester couldn’t help but steal peeks into the cells. Many were empty. Nearly all of the dismal figures she did make out were still, save for faintest rise and fall of breath - sleeping. Those who were not still twitched, or rocked slowly back and forth. Intermittent moans or sobs whispered out into the hall from between bars. The moist smell of rot mixed acrid, ferric, and stale, and Jester found herself unconsciously reaching for Beau’s hand as she led. Beau took it without a word, squeezing lightly, and did not let go.

Harsh footsteps froze them against a shadow. Further on, one of the solid doors on their right swung open, thankfully obscuring them from view, and one of the robed guards stepped out. Quickly, the guard walked away, to meet those approaching judging by the sound. Beau’s hand in Jester’s gripped tight and pulled, taking them toward the slowly closing door. The footfalls came closer, echoing around the curve of the hall. Beau and Jester ducked inside, Beau tucking the barest tips of her fingers into the crack of the door to block it from locking at the very last second. The marchers passed. Beau pressed her forehead to the damp wood.

Jester sucked in a hissing breath.

“ _ Beau. _ ”

Beau turned. The only light in the cell bounced from one perfectly circular patch thrown on the far wall, which looked to be twice or more Beau’s height above them. Angled shadows within the light indicated a clock face.  _ This whole place must be built around the clock tower,  _ Beau thought _ , and we’re inside.  _ She slipped her goggles down off her forehead and instantly the chamber was illuminated, greyscale.

“ _ Beau!” _ another hiss from Jester. There was a prisoner chained to the far wall, now that Beau could see. They were still, unmoving at the intrusion.

“Shh-” 

Jester squeezed Beau’s hand, almost crushing. The ferrous, rusty, bloody smell was strong, here -

“ _ Is that -?” _

  
The prisoner stirred, dimly fixing Beau with one grey eye.


	2. seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the Nein carry on, splitting up to finish a mission in time. Beau and Jester make a discovery.
> 
> ***
> 
> “Okay, okay, we can get you out, hang on-” from Beau, and two things happened in succession:
> 
> A third crackle sparked over his chest and he bit back another cry, and,  
the bottom of his foot connected with the center of her chest, launching her backwards.
> 
> “Ow! Shit, dude, what-” she said, pressing a hand to her aching sternum. He let his held breath go, slowly, soundlessly, and looked upward with wild eyes.
> 
> The clock struck midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rowan-raven-rogue.tumblr.com

“Be lookout for me,” Beau whispered, without taking her eyes off the chained figure. Cutting over Jester’s protest: “I’m not strong enough to keep this closed if someone decides they want to be in here, Jes, you are.” She relinquished her staff and Jester ghosted into the hall, slipping it into the crack in the door, barring it open just enough to keep it from latching. 

Beau crept across the chamber. The figure’s arms stretched up in a V where they were shackled and chained to the wall. Their - his, she could see now, his hair hung heavy in his face and clung to his forehead. He was pale, frighteningly so. His temples and cheeks sunk hollow under sharp angled bones. His lips were chapped and one had split, and just below a wide stream of blood had dried in his beard, over his chin, and run down his neck. It pooled in the hollows of his collarbones and stained in a trickle down his clothes. His breathing was fast and shallow - Beau watched his ribs rise and fall under his torn shirt, ripped and bloodied at the edge where the Scourger’s blade had pierced him through over a week ago. The wound beneath the fabric was the pink of something much longer healed, but scabbed and angry nonetheless.

She thought,  _ they wanted him alive, but they wanted it to hurt. A lot. _

The barest trace of movement - his eyes flicked over her, studying. They were deep set in purple hollows, and one had a mottled grey-and-yellow bruise creeping over the aquiline bridge of his nose and his cheek. Blue - grey, in the dark - rings were thin around black pupils blown wide and fuzzy, and he seemed not to be able to focus on any one spot for longer than a few seconds. Confusion furrowed his brow.

“Caleb?” Beau said, softly.

A crackling bolt of energy fizzled up from the metal around his right wrist, arcing over his shoulders through his body. As the chamber flared alight, his eyes whitened, wide, and he grit his teeth with the smallest grunt of pain. 

“Caleb, Caleb, shit!” Another bolt, bigger and brighter this time, and his whole body jerked against the restraints at his arms. Another swallowed groan. Beau rushed closer. Caleb flexed his writhing arms, rising slightly on the wall. 

“Okay, okay, we can get you out, hang on-” from Beau, and two things happened in succession:

A third crackle of energy sparked over his chest and he bit back another cry, and the bottom of his foot connected with the center of her chest, launching her backwards.

“Ow! Fuck, dude, what-” she said, pressing a hand to her aching sternum. Yet another bolt arced through him, and passed. He let his held breath go, slowly, soundlessly, and looked upward with wild eyes.

The clock struck midnight.

It began to toll. Bolts methodically crawled up his arms and over his chest, sinking into his body with each bell rung. His face squeezed tight shut, eyes and jaw - four, five, six, hours chimed, until he could no longer bear it - and relaxed perversely into a howl of agony. As he lit up with still more electrifying magical energy, and his mouth fell open, Beau nearly screamed, herself - his tongue had been cut out.

Twelve bells, and finally the ringing ceased. Immediately, his eyes rolled shut and his head dropped to his heaving chest, smaller shocks still flickering at his wrists.

Beau clamped a hand over her mouth, scanning critically. She eyed the wall, the shackles, Caleb’s ragged breath, the blood dried below his mouth. Then, she crept to the door and toed it open, half-slipping into the hallway.

“Jester,” she murmured, and then checked over her shoulder. He appeared to still be unconscious, unbothered by the chains.

“-What was that? It sounded- is it him?”

“Shh, shh- I… think so. If it’s not, I guess we’re going out trying to help whatever poor bastard they have hung up in there.”

Tears welled immediately in Jester’s eyes. “But Jes,” Beau continued, quickly.\, “we have to be like, so quiet. Not a word. Not even like, a whisper. Seriously. And…” The breath left her chest in a rush. “…It’s bad, Jes. Get ready.” She propped the door with her staff again and turned back, Jester following.

Beau heard Jester’s sharp gasp as they drew close, and as she ran ahead Beau reached out to grab her by the cloak. Caleb made no motion to acknowledge them. Beau released Jester and lifted her hands, palms out, conciliatory. Close enough now to reach, she turned to Jester, mouthing and miming - first, two hands from below, appearing to “boost” an invisible foot, then pointing to herself, then a gesture of slipping arms into backstraps.  _ Put me on your shoulders. _ Jester frowned.

“But-” she managed, before Beau clapped a darting hand over her mouth, and a small shock arced from the shackles and landed near Caleb’s temple. He woke with a choking, drowned cry, too quiet, and Beau felt both he and Jester stiffen. She reached up to hold him against the wall before he could kick her again. He struggled weakly for a moment - Beau held an insistent finger to her lips again, a warning to Jester. Eventually, Caleb stilled in submission.

Jester waved a hand in front of her own face, a clear  _ I don’t think he can see. _

Beau repeated her “lift” charade.  _ Trust me. _

Jester knelt, allowed Beau to sling both legs over her shoulders, and stood, bracing Beau’s ankles with her hands. With the anchor points of the chains in reach, Beau fumbled a hand into her pocket and retrieved a small vial - acid, Jester knew, one of Nott’s, pressed firmly into Beau’s hand before they had split.  _ That’s not going to work,  _ Jester thought, as loudly as possible, watching Beau drip a few careful drops onto the links in the chain. They ran off, leaving tiny steaming divots in the stone floor. Beau frowned down to Jester, who did her best “ _ magic _ ” hand signal. Beau returned a shrug, “ _ idea? _ ”, and Jester thought for a handful of stricken heartbeats until her eyes fell to the pocked stone at her feet, where the unhelpful drops had spilled.

“ _ Stone _ ?” she mouthed up, tracing a small circle in the air with one finger. Beau nodded, following the links back to where they anchored into the stone wall and tipping the vial once more. It was a clumsier process, but she managed to get enough on the wall that the surface began to pucker and eat way, forming a hollow around the pin holding the chain in place. An errant drop or two missed the mark, falling to Caleb’s outstretched arm instead. He hissed, chest tensing, and his head fell back on his shoulders. Jester grasped Beau’s calf, roughly, nails digging in -

“ _ Careful!”,  _ wordlessly.

_ “Sorry!” _

Beau continued, tugging shortly at the loose pin and crumbling the stone around it. Jester reached a gentle hand and thumbed at the blood below Caleb’s lips, then slid up to cup his face. He jerked, a sharp shy away from the contact, and glared at her from the corner of one wavering eye. She drew back, and furrowingly he continued to try to appraise her. Suddenly, his right arm jerked downward, no longer held stiff in place by the anchored chain. Another silent, frantic grunt, through his teeth - he scrambled for the other chain, desperate to relieve the pressure now solely borne by his still-shackled arm and shoulder - and Jester heard a sickening  _ pop _ . She released Beau and instead braced Caleb, who hung limp and trembling for a moment before appearing to pass out again.

This time Jester forwent any restraint or gentleness, and clawed into Beau’s leg again.

“ _ !!!” _

“ _ !!!” _ came Beau’s answering wince. She jerked her head, indicating the other chain, and Jester angrily sidestepped to give her better view. Thankfully, nothing spilled this time, and in a few short minutes the other pin popped free of the eaten stone. Jester carefully relinquished Caleb, and he slid gracelessly to the floor. She ducked. Beau unslung herself and touched down. They knelt.

Jester cupped his face again, in the crook where it slumped to his dislocated shoulder. He was cold, and the pulse in his neck, against her fingers, was erratic - too fast, arhythmic, then too slow. She roused him as tenderly as she could. Weakly, he pushed her away, and propped himself against the wall onto shaking legs - lasting only a beat before collapsing onto their quick, lunging arms. They half-dragged him, gathering the chains up, and made their exit.

Beau scanned the hall, nodding curtly when the coast checked clear. Pausing to lean Caleb against the closed door, Beau awkwardly stowed her staff. Caleb grimaced, blue swallowing up his eyes.  _ How long was he in the dark like that?  _ thought Jester, as he adjusted. He watched Beau fiddle with her staff through narrow, disbelieving lids. Jester met his eyes, low, and the crease in his brow deepened. Then they raised, and he shut his eyes against an expression of pained relief. Jester took his shaking hand, timid in light of the fading bruises on his knuckles. 

_ He put up a fight.  _ The thought swelled on an upsurge of pride. He swallowed, opening one eye. She motioned with two downward, alternate fingers -  _ can you walk?  _ Closing his eyes, a shake:  _ no. _

Beau took one arm over her shoulders, and Jester linked around his middle from the other side. They went forward, as one.

On, and on, until the hall sank lower and lower and curved into familiarity - the crescent grate, with two bars missing and one bar bent, recessed into the opposite wall. Beau climbed in, Jester lowered Caleb in unwieldy descent, and dropped in herself. They made their escape.


	3. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the Nein carry on, splitting up to finish a mission in time. Beau and Jester make a discovery.
> 
> ***
> 
> It seemed he was more bone than anything else, all sharp angles and blue hollows, stretched thin. His skin was too cool, and too pale, and she could count each rib as his chest rose and fell with his breath, rapid as a hummingbird’s.
> 
> “Caleb,” she began again. “Where does it hurt the most?”
> 
> Thinking, slow, he nodded.
> 
> “No - where - ?”
> 
> Another nod.
> 
> “...it... hurts?” 
> 
> Nod.
> 
> “...Everywhere?”
> 
> Nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rowan-raven-rogue.tumblr.com

Mile after snaking mile of pipe finally mouthed open to the side of a marshy hillock. The runoff emptied into a sluggish stream nearby. The sky was bright and black, and Jester relished the cool breeze carrying the wet stink off their clothes and skin. 

“Let’s-” she started, and her stomach immediately twinged with guilt - Caleb jerked in pain as a small shock erupted from the metal cuffs at his wrists and charged over his arms.

Wincing, Beau turned, chewing pensively on her bottom lip. She searched the distance behind them. Then she turned back to Jester, nodding meaningfully over her shoulder, to the tower. It was hardly visible, rising just, just above the thick scrubby trees dotting the moor. To Jester’s best guess, she meant _ do you think we’re far enough away? _

Jester readjusted her grip around Caleb. Though he appeared to be dozing, supported deadweight between them, his shaking had only worsened in the time they had been traveling. She pressed her palm over the shivers running up and down his sides, and nodded, _ let’s do it. _

As they lowered him, he roused himself abruptly. He looked upward, wild eyes ringed white, and tensed. Braced between half sitting, half standing, he held his breath, and looked to the sky in seeming wait.

_ What the fuck? _a look clearly telegraphed from Beau. A shrug, from Jester, and clumsily they knelt him on the damp earth. He continued to wait, breathing wildly like a trapped rabbit, silent. Jester knelt in front of him, trying to meet his glassy eyes - which, eventually, he did, although his gaze still wavered back and forth over one spot. She took his hands, cautiously, covering the cold metal around his wrists.

She looked, loudly as she could, _ are you ready? _

Frowning, Caleb glanced down at the shackles. Then he paused, understanding, closed his eyes, balled his hands into fists, and nodded.

The talisman at her hip seemed to warm - she felt it through her skirts as she gathered her will, and the strange and familiar energy that accompanied any of her Traveler’s miracles - and she breathed the incantation that she knew would remove any traces of magic from the chains in her hand.

Immediately, crackling energy sprang from the shackles, and Caleb tensed. He panted hard and fast through his nose and through clenched teeth, and more energy billowed forth. Jester continued to pray, and as she felt the last of the miracle leave her fingertips, the worst of the surge seemed to hit Caleb. He actually vocalized, close-mouthed, something between a whisper and a swelling cry, and then it was over. He swayed for a moment, and Jester caught him as he slumped forward into her. Too late she realized she him by his bad shoulder, but it didn’t matter - he was already unconscious.

* * *

It had only taken Beau a few moments with a sliver of metal to pick the now-unimpressive locks and remove the shackles completely, and she had thought it prudent to store them in Jester’s haversack for the time being rather than dump them somewhere and risk giving their trail away. On they had traveled, Jester carrying Caleb slung over her shoulders, Beau anxiously picking on ahead to deal with any trouble that might run into them. Finally, Beau had declared a small clearing, encircled by more of the same scrubby trees, hidden enough for their purposes. They set up camp.

Jester took stock. 

Gently, she laid Caleb on her bedroll, unfurled in front of a nervously flickering fire. The black eye was easy enough, and the bruises along his knuckles, as were the purple-black ones around his wrists where he had repeatedly pulled against the shackles. Now that she could see properly, instead of just shades of grey in the dark, she noticed a trickle of blood just at his hairline, down the left side of his face. Parting his hair back, she found a deepish cut a few inches above his ear - the amount of blood dried there was concerning, but the wound itself was shallow. There was more blood drying below his mouth, too, a wide swath that matted his beard and dried tacky over his chest. The small acid burn on his right shoulder needed attention. Far more serious were the lightning-pattern burns lacing everywhere, over his arms, hands, chest, neck. It seemed there wasn’t a single spot left untouched by them; some had even crept over his temples and the sides of his face. Many were red and recent, others the shiny, furrowed white of older burns. The wound under his ribs was scabbed and healing. Someone had done a little to close it, but clumsily so, perhaps on purpose. The edge of the gash was an angry pink, and ragged like a frayed cloth. She could avoid a scar, possibly, although that would mean opening the wound back up again. She thought briefly of his reaction if she approached him with a knife, in his current state, and decided against it. His shoulder was obviously a priority - it sickened her to see his arm hanging limp and unnaturally angled against his side like that.

“Caleb,” she roused. He aged, as he awoke - the youth-at-peace look replaced by someone haggard, in pain. “I know you’re cold, but can I take your shirt off? Just for a second. I need to see if I’m missing anything,” she said, soft. He acquiesced, and she helped him sit up and lift the stained cloth gingerly over his dangling arm and tender shoulders. He winced. The burns worsened over his shoulder blades and back. She gently pinched the back of his hand, noting how it rasped and tented. It seemed he was more bone than anything else, all sharp angles and blue hollows, stretched thin. His skin was too cool, and too pale, and she could count each rib as his chest rose and fell with his breath, rapid as a hummingbird’s. There were more bruises on his sides, too, in varying shapes and stages of healing. His eyes were glassy, red ringed by black. His pupils dilated and constricted seeming at random, never quite settling on any one spot, always the hollow black of something empty and tunneled.

“Caleb,” she began again, and the tunnels narrowed, focused (nearly) on her. “Where does it hurt the most?”

Thinking, slow, he nodded.

“No - where - ?”

Another nod.

“...it... hurts?” 

Nod.

“...Everywhere?”

Nod.

“Okay…” she said, drawn out, fighting to keep the small-child-instruction from creeping into her voice. “Are you hurt anywhere you think I can’t see?” 

A pause. A hand, opened, and then clenched into a fist in front of his forehead.

“Your head hurts?”

Nod.

“Okay. Anywhere else?”

The same gesture, in front of the center of his chest.

“And your chest?”

Nod. The same, just below.

“And your stomach hurts too?”

Nod.

“Is that because you’re hungry?”

A blink. He shook his head.

“What do you think?” said Beau, as she fumbled at her belt for her water skin.

“It’s bad,” Jester conceded. “I think I can fix it, though. Mostly. I can’t make him like, less skinny. He -” and here she turned to Caleb, remembering, tender - “-you need food, and water, and sleep.”

“One more, Jes.” Beau said, crouching, abandoning her lackluster attempt at simply stirring their combined rations into a concoction greater than the sum of its parts, something warm and palatable. Handing her water skin to Caleb: “Show her.”

A pained look squeezed Caleb’s eyes. Glancing away, he slowly opened his mouth.

Jester gasped, and her hands flew to her own mouth. His tongue - that was clearly the source of the blood. The realization made her stomach churn, He closed and turned even further away, and she could see the pulse thrumming forth, languid, from the vein in his neck.

“Oh, Caleb…” she said, behind her hands.

Ungainly, he uncorked the skin one-handed, tipped his head back, and poured some of the water down his throat. Much of it ended up missing and trickling down his face, just beginning to rinse the blood away. He swallowed, with difficulty. Breathing heavily, he tried again, this time improving in his aim and taking a long drink.

“Hey, easy, easy, not so fast - you gotta take it slow, or else-” started Beau, but Caleb finished the thought for her, retching suddenly, jerking halfway to his feet, and vomiting the watery contents of his stomach in the grass several feet away.

“Okay, okay okay, Caleb - let me - let me try to fix it…” Jester tried to soothe, a bit hysterical. She actually saw him lose consciousness, this time, for a fraction of a second, before shaking his head and looking back to her, dejected.

“Come here,” she said, and he shuffled to her on his knees. She reached both hands out - he recoiled, and she stilled, patient - and placed them on the sides of his face. He made another bare, small sound, closing his eyes as he turned his face into the contact. She tamped down the urge to press a kiss to his forehead, though not so low that she might not dig it back up for another time.

The miracle was much warmer this time, nearly scalding.

The bruise around his eye faded yellow and pale in seconds, and there was a tiny, snapping noise - he took a sharp, wincing breath in through his nose, and a drop of blood trickled from it. _ It must have been broken, too, but not badly, or maybe it had already started to heal, _ she thought. She watched with approval as more bruises faded. Some of the ones dotting his torso, as the lines sharpened or blurred, momentarily took on the shape of boot-prints, of heels and toes, she noticed with a pang of rage. As predicted, the gash under his ribs knit back together into puffy scar tissue, although at least it had closed. The singular, circular burn on his shoulder healed over, pink and new. The others disappeared, too, fresh and healed skin flowing down all the lightning-lace like tiny rivulets of water.

Her own blood was simmering now - there was a dull, cut-short _ pop _ , and he grunted, clutching his shoulder. An even softer and more buried sound, and he took a deep, rushed inhale. A rib, un-cracking, _ probably one of the little ones down on the bottom _.

Suddenly he doubled over, coughing - Jester hastily slid a hand down to grab his, keeping their contact. Fresh, red blood leaked from his mouth - he choked, and drops painted the grass at his feet. The last of it was approaching, she felt, as her eyes and fingertips boiled with it - and suddenly cooled. Releasing his hand, now it was her turn to sway on the spot. He continued to cough weakly.

“Caleb?” she said, leaning heavily into Beau, who had scooped an arm around her from the back. He took a few trembling, hoarse breaths, and looked to her.

“Th...ank you,” he murmured, shaky and monotone, and wiped the blood from his lips.


	4. zero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the Nein carry on, splitting up to finish a mission in time. Jester and Beau make a discovery.
> 
> ***
> 
> “He’s alive,” Jester whispered, with comfortable reverence. Beau was silent. Jester dipped the cloth in the bowl, wrung it out, and gently began to clean, swiping it over his forehead and temples.
> 
> “You could wait until he wakes up, at least,” Beau groused.
> 
> “I could,” said Jester, patiently, and continued to work. The fresh blood under his nose and mouth came away with relative ease, but the rusty-red dried in his hair and beard required more gentle perseverance. She rinsed and wrung the cloth again. Moving on, she worked beneath his jaw and down his neck and clavicle, then his shoulder to the crook of his elbow, to the sharp protruding bone at his wrist. She dabbed lightly over the faded scars, then the back of his hand and between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic depictions of self-harm. Please proceed with caution.

Beau tipped his head forward, sliding the leather cord over his head. The amber pendant, resting on his bare chest, rose and fell, shallow and steady.

“All yours, buddy,” she said, under her breath. He hadn’t stirred - hopefully, lulled by the fire’s warmth, the comfort of a scratchy, familiar wool travel blanket, and the relative comfort of the bedroll under him… Still, Beau watched the rise and fall of his breath. He was just _ so _ still, and the orange glow from the fire only made the blue-white pallor of his skin that much more stark.

Jester returned, with a bowl and a small square of scrap cloth torn from an old blanket. She sat cross-legged beside Beau, placing the bowl with a wet _ slosh _. They studied.

“He’s alive,” Jester whispered, with comfortable reverence. Beau was silent. Jester dipped the cloth in the bowl, wrung it out, and gently began to clean, swiping it over his forehead and temples.

“You could wait until he wakes up, at least,” Beau groused.

“I could,” said Jester, patiently, and continued to work. The fresh blood under his nose and mouth came away with relative ease, but the rusty-red dried in his hair and beard required more gentle perseverance.

“Do you think we should wake him up anyway?” Beau said. “He didn’t really eat much.” She wrinkled, thinking back on the choked retching that meant he was having a hard time keeping even a small piece of their rationed bread down.

“Let him sleep,” said Jester. She rinsed and wrung the cloth again. Moving on, working beneath his jaw and down his neck and clavicle: “We can try again in the morning.” 

Beau was silent.

Jester worked, bit by bit, moving down his shoulder to the crook of his elbow, the sharp protruding bone at his wrist. She dabbed lightly over the faded scars, then worked down to the back of his hand and between his fingers. She relinquished the cloth to the bowl, once she’d finished, and threaded her fingers into the spaces between his.

“I’m sorry.”

Jester blinked. Beau hadn’t looked to her, only stared out over the quiet night.

“Why?” she said.

Beau paused with a breath. “We should have gone after him.”

Now it was Jester’s turn to be silent. She squeezed Caleb’s hand.

“If we had…” Beau began again. “If we hadn’t. Left him behind. None of this would have happened.”

Jester looked down, watching him breathe. So soft, and yet so sharp, the points of his bones looking like they might tear through his skin, and he slept so quietly and still. 

“Or,” Jester volunteered, “more of us would have gotten hurt, or… or we might not have been able to find him at all, or maybe we _ could _ have gotten him before anything happened.” She placed Caleb’s hand on his chest and took up the cloth again, wringing it out and starting on his opposite shoulder. “But that’s not what we did. And we can’t go back and do it over, and we don’t even know if things would be better if we could.”

“That doesn’t,” Beau raked a hand over her face, eyes meandering skyward, “mean it’s okay. Now.” Her voice trailed up, into a question. Jester let it hang, thinking for a long moment.

“I don’t think you were wrong,” she said carefully. Something in Beau’s eyes continued to search up, up. “I think we just… make it as okay as we can now.”

They were quiet for a long time.

Eventually Beau stood, brushing the gravelly dirt from her palms.

“Take my bed,” she said. “Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.” Jester considered protesting, then nodded.

“Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

* * *

She woke to thin wisps of smoke curling up to meet the rising sun.

Their fire had burned to embers in the long hours of the night. As the morning rose around them, safe and untouched, she felt a warmth, and realized Beau was just now laying down, curling on her side and pressing her back to Jester’s on top of the blanket.

Jester let the moment have a lie-in. When the smoke finally trailed too thin to see, she rose lightly, making sure Beau wouldn’t wake, and folded her half of the blanket over Beau’s sleeping form.

* * *

It was late afternoon before Caleb returned to consciousness.

A hasty message sent to Nott hadn’t prompted an answer:

_ Nott you guys really need to hurry and meet up with us like as soon as you can get out of there because we found _

Beau had disappeared - she had slept, restlessly, and woken early, only a few short hours after Jester, and then kicked anxiously about their little camp before she was off. The surrounding woods were pronounced safe shortly after, and Jester had a feeling that she wasn’t only roaming for lack of anything to do except wait. 

They waited for Nott to send a message, for their friends to return to their rendez-vous point, and for Caleb to wake up, which was the first to occur.

Jester returned to the camp, re-corking her waterskin and wiping her face and neck dry on her sleeve. Quick, deep, quiet breaths, alien and strained - Caleb sat up hunched with his back to her. His shoulders heaved, and he rocked back and forth.

“Caleb! Caleb, what is it, what’s wrong?” Jester rushed to him, placing gentle fingertips on his bare back. He curled further into himself.

“Please -” and she swallowed the word _ tell _, “- show me, can you show me?”

He shook his head, and a wavering groan escaped him, just audible.

“Caleb, please, if it hurts let me look, I can heal it, but I need to know-” Jester cut short, realizing that blood was starting to collect in tiny pools on his lap.

“Caleb. Please. You’re bleeding.” She moved slowly, kneeling in front of him, and he pressed his crossed arms into his chest. The impulse to reach out for him was set aside, with much difficulty.

“Let me,” and he actually looked up before she could finish. His eyes were wild and sad, and he only looked to her for a moment before staring resolutely into the ground:

“I… could… feel them,” he managed, in that halting, monotone way from the night before, and wrapped one hand around his wrist. She could see, now, the fresh red beneath his nails and smeared over his fingertips, and things began to click into place.

“Caleb, can I see?” she said, pouring all the gentleness she had. Resigned, he slowly held out his hands. Shallow, jagged wells of blood crossed his wrists and forearms, some working over the backs, concentrated in the band where the shackles had encircled each wrist.

“It’s okay,” she said, fighting, fighting back the urge to take his arms in her hands. “Can I touch you,” and she moved slowly to indicate his shoulder, that was probably safe, “here? I can heal it.”

At his nod, she placed a hand on his shoulder and sent a wave of warm energy through her fingers. The marks on his wrists shrank and knit back into skin undisturbed. He clasped a hand over the lines of blood, now pooling sticky and smeared, just as Beau approached them.

“This piece of shit’s fuckin’ broken!” she called angrily, waving the silver-chained watch in one fist. “It’s stuck on like, four o’clock, and I can’t wind it back.”

Caleb mumbled something, crossing his arms back to his chest again. Beau seemed to collect herself, realizing he was awake, and Jester leaned in to hear.

“It is… four,” he said, just on top of his breath. The thought struck Jester just how similar his eyes, frightened all around the whites, were to the night before, when he had tensed so suddenly and for no seeming reason.

“Is it?” Beau said, hastily forcing some softness into her tone, and squinting up at the sun.

“I al…ways know the ti…me,” he mumbled again, wry, and pressed his arms closer still.

“Whoa, are you okay? You’re-” and Beau halted at the warning glance from Jester, “-you, uh. You okay?”

He said nothing, but placed a tentative hand over Jester’s, on his shoulder.

“Thank you…,” he said, and then mustered himself. “Thank you,” again, this time to both Jester and Beau. “I… do not know… how long… I would have made it, if… not for you.” He took a deep breath, and Jester felt some of the tension sink down and away, out of his shoulders, as if he was forcing himself calm. “I am lucky… I did not lose hope.”

Jester watched Beau’s grip tighten on the chain.

“I’m sorry… we didn’t get there sooner,” Beau said, very quietly bristling. 

“I am sorry, that,” and Caleb gestured to the center of his chest, the spot where he had kicked her the day before. “I did not realize… it was you.”

“It’s okay,” said Beau. Jester watched her slip the watch into a pocket. “No harm done. How you feeling now, you need anything?”

He shook his head, and did not remove his hand from on top of Jester’s. His fingers flexed, and he gripped her tight for a moment.

“Nott… and the others… did they…?”

“Oh! Caleb, no, we needed to split up, they’re okay,” Jester said, catching up to his meaning. _ Of course he would think something happened _, the last he had seen of them… Jester’s healing power had been stretched very thin, that day. She swallowed down memory - of the hard, wet noise of the Scourger’s blade piercing him, the way time had slowed as he fell, the sickening limpness in his limbs as he was carried off… 

“Split up?” he questioned.

“Uh, Essek had a little task for us,” said Beau. “Something, um. Time sensitive.”

“Ah,” he said. The monotony in his speech was beginning to work itself out, but he still faltered and spoke nearly too softly to hear. “The others… are on this mission, then? You two are… my rescue team.”

There was silence, until:

“Actually,” Beau said, dropping her hand into her pocket, “we were… on the same mission. Kind of. Two items, two different strongholds. It was really important that the Empire not get their hands on them.”

“I see,” Caleb said, after a pause. “Did you find it? What you were looking for?” Wordlessly, Beau held out the tarnished silver timepiece. Caleb nodded thoughtfully in the quiet.

“It was really lucky we just kinda… stumbled onto you,” said Jester.. “After that fight with the Scourger lady…”

“We thought-” Beau began, and her words caught on her tongue-

“-we thought you were dead, Caleb,” finished Jester.

Another pause.

“You did not know… I was there?” he said, softly. He let go of Jester’s hand, and worried at the amber pendant at his neck. “How remarkable.”

He said nothing, after that, for the rest of the night.


End file.
